rosie_rues | A Twilight Wooing (Day 03)

I II III

Title: A Twilight Wooing
Rating: PG
Words: 1285
Prompt: Vegetable wooing
Disclaimer: They belong to JKR. I’m just borrowing them.

Remus finally arrived home just before dusk, cradling a striped marrow as large as his head. Sirius, who had spent the day pacing the halls and picking on the portraits until even Buckbeak snapped at him, was so bemused he almost forgot to breathe in the gust of freedom that blew in the front door.

Even his mother’s portrait seemed baffled, merely mumbling, “In my house!”

Remus deposited it in Sirius’ arms with a smile. “Brought you a present.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said uncertainly and trailed after Remus as he made his way through to the kitchen. The marrow felt hard and heavy in his arms, cold and rain-slick, and it kept slipping away. He caught it on his knee as he pushed through the kitchen door and took the last few steps to the table at a run.

Remus had brought him a marrow. It was ridiculous to feel so warmed by the gesture, but he could feel the grin itching its way onto his face.

“-never drink Arabella’s tea,” Remus was saying as he filled the kettle. “It’s barely more than warm milk and there was cat hair in my mug.”

“You brought me a marrow,” Sirius said, feeling himself go hollow and ghostlike with confusion.

Remus turned to look at him, smiling slightly. “Yes. Yes, I did. Arabella asked me if I’d like it, and I thought – well, marrows.”

“Marrows,” Sirius echoed, lost.

Remus’ smile faded and his shoulders slumped. “Oh. Ah – do you remember?”

“No,” Sirius said, feeling along the veiny flesh of the vegetable. It meant nothing.

“Damn,” Remus said softly, and they both regarded the marrow gloomily.

Then Remus turned away, fishing in the tin for teabags, and said brightly, “So, Arabella sends her love-”

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” Sirius demanded, glaring at his back.

He watched Remus’ shoulders tighten, and glowered at the thinning patch of hair on the back of his head, as if he could drag secrets out of there just by wanting. How was he supposed to be normal if no one would talk to him?

“Moony, please.”

“We’ve had this conversation before, Sirius,” Remus said, without turning round. “If I tell you things, you won’t remember them. You’ll just create something from my memories and your imagination. It won’t be real.”

“Says who?” Sirius muttered. Remus’ professor tone always made him want to tilt his chair and sneak out for a fag behind the greenhouse.

“Scientists.”

“Muggles,” Sirius muttered. “What do they know?”

That earnt him a proper I-really-don’t-think-that’s-an-appropriate-remark-Mr-Black look, and Remus said stiffly, “Dumbledore agrees with them.”

Sirius slammed the back legs of his chair down. “I don’t care! I don’t care if they’re real or not! I haven’t got anything right now! I might as well be dead!”

Remus’ face stiffened, but not quite fast enough for Sirius to miss the shadow of hurt in his eyes. He slumped in his chair, and Remus said quietly, “You have a marrow.”

“And you’ve got my memories,” Sirius said, leaning forward. If only he could make Moony understand. He was so sick of the awkward silences and that constant shimmer of disappointment that Remus tried so hard to conceal. “You’ve got all my memories locked up in there and you won’t share.”

Remus stared at him, face still and unreadable.

“Please,” Sirius said. Fifteen years ago, he would have been able to charm the answers out of Moony. He had caught a few scraps of those memories, of Lily rolling her eyes and snapping, You’re an embarrassment, Black. He couldn’t quite remember how he’d done it.

Something of the old charm must have remained, in some spectral, ghoulish form, for Remus suddenly jerked round, lifting the whistling kettle and splashing water into the teapot. Sirius winced in sympathy, watching Remus’ hands anxiously in case he burnt them. He couldn’t watch Remus’ back when he was out there on missions, but he could guard him the rest of the time.

The teapot slopped as Remus put it down on the table. The drips of tea smeared across the front of last month’s Quibbler, smudging the pink moustache Tonks had drawn onto Stubby Boardman’s face. Remus sat down hard, dropping his head into his hands.

Sirius eyed him warily and tiptoed across the kitchen to grab a couple of cleanish mugs.

“You were eighteen,” Remus said hoarsely, not lifting his head, and Sirius froze. “Summer after we left school, and it was Mr Potter’s prize marrow. You and James got ridiculously drunk and stole it one night.”

Sirius concentrated on the words, and suddenly something clicked in his memory. “He was going to propose,” he said, struggling. “Scared out of his wits.”

“I didn’t know that,” Remus said quietly. “I know it was the first time you actually tested the bike out.”

That brought back a sudden rush of memory, drunk and blurry-eyed with laughter, clouds drenching his feet and a bloody great marrow sliding off his lap. James had crowed, “Bombs away!” in his ear and then, “Crikey, we’re over Swindon. Dive for it!”

“Dropped it three times,” Sirius said vaguely. “Bastard called himself a Chaser.”

“Next thing I knew,” Remus said, and Sirius could hear the smile, “was you landing on my mum’s washing line, complete with marrow.”

That brought no memories. Torn between gloom and triumph at the solid, real memory of James Potter, a marrow and a motorbike, Sirius put the mugs down and poured tea into them. He slid one across to Remus and asked, feeling absurdly shy, “Why did we bring you a marrow?”

Remus looked up, smiling tiredly. “I really don’t know. You were both very drunk. You took Lily a cauliflower, once I’d untangled you from the sheets.”

Sirius pondered that. It sounded like a courting gift, but why would James be taking Moony gifts? That was the problem with memories – if they only came in patches, they made no sense at all.

Remus shrugged, fussing with his mug. “Leave it, Padfoot. There probably never was a reason.”

“I remembered something, though,” Sirius said, blowing on his tea. “You could tell me other things, y’know. Then I might remember them.”

Remus frowned faintly.

“You could tell me what it is you keep waiting for me to remember,” Sirius added, watching him carefully through the tea steam.

He got a startled glance in reply, and then Remus said, “Leaving the hot water tap running all day pisses off your housemate. It took you years to learn that the first time.”

“No,” Sirius said scornfully. “The important thing.”

Remus’ eyes fell, and he shrugged slightly. “There isn’t anything.”

“Liar,” Sirius said and was proud that he had kept it amiable. He watched Remus struggle, caught between two different worries, the frown line in his forehead deepening, and relented. He would remember this thing, this secret Remus wouldn’t even hint at. “What’s for dinner?”

“I could Floo Molly and see if she’s got a recipe for marrow soup,” Remus said, sounding relieved.

Sirius grabbed for his marrow, pulling its warty weight close. “You’re not soupifying my marrow!”

“What were you going to do with it?” Remus asked, looking baffled.

“Keep it.” He had a new memory – a memory of James, and if he clung to it, it would become as solid and real as the marrow.

“In which case we’re heating up something from the freezer again.”

“Nothing with peas,” Sirius said, rolling his marrow into his arms. “Or carrots, broccoli or aubergines.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Go and tidy your marrow away nicely and I’ll let you cook your own.”

Sirius’ arms were too full to give him the finger, so he stuck his tongue out briefly and began to lug his marrow upstairs.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Location: Oxford, UK

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

paulamcg.livejournal.com

Thank you for another treat. I love the rich experience of life your Sirius’s pov conveys. (I mean the way he observes the marrow, and Remus as well.) He seems to live so fully in the moment, like a child, perhaps because he has so few memories. That’s how he’s a perfect character for a vivid narrative, and you take advantage of him excellently.

This must be my favourite line.
“Damn,” Remus said softly, and they both regarded the marrow gloomily.

The humour and the presence of damage are here so perfectly intertwined.

For a moment I was alarmed when you almost convinced me that Remus could not possibly help Sirius remember anything, at least not with the help of words. Soon I was more than relieved when you described vividly the memory of flying with James.

Sharing Sirius’s pov, we are not supposed to know what Remus wishes Sirius could remember – and we wouldn’t be so sure to know, were this not fanfiction. In the end this story will probably turn out focusing on romance, but I got fond of this because Sirius doesn’t focus on that yet, so I get a feeling of something like more dimensions… I read each part somehow as a complete short story, not impatiently waiting for a conclusion, but I know I’m an anomaly among R/S shippers.

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A Twilight Wooing (Day 03)

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